


A Kind of Home

by Mirradin



Category: Homestuck
Genre: BDSM, Cunnilingus, F/M, Femdom, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Mommy Kink, Praise Kink, Routine, Spanking, slippers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 08:34:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20189359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirradin/pseuds/Mirradin
Summary: Roxy and Dave never got a chance at a normal home life growing up. They both enjoy the chance to play pretend.





	A Kind of Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Atsugaruru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atsugaruru/gifts).

In the grand scheme of things, Roxy’s house isn’t all _that_ different from the flat you grew up in. Between six different species, seven if you count Calliope, this world has a whole crazy jumble of different places to live in. Roxy’s home can’t compare with the Brooding Caverns for weirdness, or with the various Consort houses – even Jade’s childhood island tower was further from your place than Roxy’s comfy suburban pad is.

It feels different enough, though. Bro’s flat was a mess of smuppets and weaponry, with cameras hidden everywhere. Roxy’s place is…also a mess, really, but it’s a mess of coffee cups and laptops, and the occasional mutated cat, not random drifts of throwing stars piled up against the sofa. The only cameras here are the ones you bring with you. Bro’s apartment had random creepy comics lurking on the doors; Roxy has an actual mantlepiece full of photos of your friends, some in Halloween costumes. Bro’s fridge was full of shitty swords; Roxy always makes sure you have something to eat when you come over.

Bro’s apartment felt like a battleground; Roxy’s house feels like a home.

It’s nice. There are things you have here that you never had a chance at, before.

Some of those things are maybe more prosaic than others.

The alarm clock going off startles you out of your photography-induced tunnel focus. It used to meow when it went off, but that was kind of hard to tell apart from all the actual cats, so Roxy reprogrammed it to play an obnoxious seagull cawing noise. The clock itself is still cat-themed. It’s kind of incongruous to look for a bird and find **23:00 **blinking at you from between a pair of kitty ears.

Roxy yawns loudly, linking her fingers behind her head and stretching until you hear her back pop. “Okay, it is _definitely_ bedtime,” she says, blinking.

Between Bro’s whole _thing _and then the time you spent flying between universes with a handful of teenage aliens before winding up as a god, you have never in your life had a regular bedtime, and even if you had it wouldn’t have been before one AM. Roxy’s sleep schedule’s even more erratic; turns out growing up in a post-apocalyptic chess town does a number on a person’s circadian rhythms. There are a whole lot of normal, human things that neither of you ever got to have.

You slide the laptop off your knees. “Yes, Mom.”

The room is lit only by your laptop screen and the streetlamp outside, but it’s enough for you to see her smile.

There’s a way you do things, when you call her that. It’s not quite a ritual, more of a routine. You get your pyjamas from Roxy’s bedroom and head to the bathroom down the hall, where you have a towel folded over the rim of the bathtub and a toothbrush in a mug by the sink. You turn the shower up as hot as it’ll go and step in. Roxy splurges on nice soap, which you take shameless advantage of to scrub yourself from head to toe. That’s not an official part of your routine, but you do it so often it might as well be. What can you say, it feels right.

When you’re clean enough to be used as a table you get out and brush your teeth, which _is _an official part of your routine, because brushing their teeth before they go to bed is what normal kids in normal families do. You and your family have never laid a single eye on normal between you, but sometimes it’s nice to pretend.

Roxy’s waiting when you get back to the bedroom, sitting at the foot of the bed in a flowery nightdress.

You walk over to the bed and go to your knees at her feet.

Another thing about Roxy: She likes taking care of people. You, uh. You don’t really have any objection to being taken care of.

Her fingers comb through your hair and cup the back of your head. You bury your face in her knees, breathing in deeply. You can smell her soap, something fruity and sharp, but mostly she just smells like Roxy. Her dress is soft, and her hand on your head is secure, and you are utterly safe.

“How are you?” she asks. It’s the same question every time.

You turn your head so your temple is resting against her knee. “Fine.” You have to give her an honest answer, but the honest answer is that you’re fine most of the time. There’s only been a couple of times that you haven’t been.

“Cool.” Her fingers start moving again, toying with the fine hairs at the nape of your neck. “So, what’s your poison?”

You groan and butt your head against her knee. “Do I have to?”

“Yup! Them’s the rules, Davey-boy. You can’t have it if you don’t ask for it. Lay it on me!”

Argh. For a moment you give into temptation and hide your face in her nightdress again. You have done this like a dozen times; why does it still have to be so embarrassing? “Spank me?”

“Ooh.” Roxy scritches the back of your neck. You might possibly shiver in pleasure. “Yeah, that sounds fun. Ask me nicely.”

You sit back on your heels so she can hear you, and stare at one of the bedposts with your ears flushing crimson. “Uh. Please spank me, Mom?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” She catches you by the shoulder and tugs. “C’mon, up you get.”

You scramble to follow.

You end up lying facedown across her lap, pyjama bottoms shoved halfway down your thighs, shivering as she doodles lazy patterns on your skin.

“So, I’m thinking,” she muses, drawing a spiral on your back with the tip of a fingernail. “I can use my hand –” she swats you lightly, making you tense – “or I could do it with a slipper. Get all domestic up in here. Thoughts?”

Huh. You consider. She’s wearing the fluffy pink slippers Rose got her a couple years back; the soles are going through, but she keeps wearing them anyway. The sting wouldn’t be that much more than if she smacked you straight on. You like her hand – like the sting of skin on skin, like knowing that she can feel you just as much as you can feel her – but the thought of being thwapped by something that belongs to her like that is warming. “Yeah, okay. I mean,” you swallow, “your slipper. Please.”

“Cool.” She pets the back of your head as she bends over you to take her slipper off, revealing unpainted toenails. You’ve kissed her feet before and loved it, and one day you’ll do it again. She rests one hand on the back of your neck, not holding you down but steadying you. “Ready?”

Your heart is picking up already. Your cock is twitching with anticipation. You can smell her and it makes you think of safety. You nod.

The first blow to your ass makes you jump. It’s a sharper pain than her hand gives you, makes a different _crack _when it hits; it’s different enough to startle you. She rubs the back of your neck and you breathe out slowly, trying to relax for her. She waits for you to settle, then does it again. This time you’re ready for the difference, and you don’t tense up so much.

Third blow. _Thwap_. It’s still a surface pain, but you can feel it settling into you. You wriggle without meaning to, and Roxy pets your hair until you go obediently still for her again.

She builds up to a steady rhythm, one you’re familiar with from every other time you’ve asked her for this, and you breathe and settle into it. It hurts more than the other times, but it’s not unbearable, just intense. You’re getting harder with every blow. Every strike reminds you that you’re meant to be here, that you’re wanted, that she wants to do this for you.

It hurts, but it’s a hurt that you asked for. You’re in charge of it.

It’s possible that your relationship with pain is a little fucked.

Roxy delivers four more blows in rapid succession, _one two three four_, the impact shaking you and securing you, and you cry out. You can’t help it. Your ass is burning, the pain turning you loose and undone, and you’re safe here. You need her and you’re limp as a dishrag across her legs. “Mom,” you hear yourself pleading. “Mom, please –”

“Easy, honey.” She tips you out of her lap, rolls you onto your back. You go, whimpering as your ass rubs against the blanket. Her hand closes around your cock and you gasp.

“Shh,” she tells you, stroking you with a sure hand. “You’re being so good for me. _So_ good, seriously. You’re okay.”

It doesn’t take long for you to come, sprawled out in her bed, gasping and shivering as she works you over until you draw tight. You tip your head back, wriggle to feel the sheets against your ass, and it’s the slight burn of friction that tips you over the edge and makes you tremble apart underneath her.

As soon as you can get your arms to work again you reach for her with shaking hands. She lets you tug her close and straddles your face, careful not to put her weight on you. You stare up at her smiling face past the slope of her belly and breasts. No lie, you saw some pretty amazing sights during the Game, but this one has them all beat.

She’s wet. You can see that, yeah, but you’re so close you can smell it, too, and a little pleased jolt goes through you. She liked spanking you with her slipper. She liked it a _lot._

You curl your arms up around her thighs and lean up to lick her clit. It’s fiddly, but you can close your mouth around her and suck and then wriggle your tongue under the hood, and when you do she gasps and curls forward and it’s the _best _thing. She likes it when you keep it wet and sloppy, so you do. She likes it when you circle the tip of your tongue around her clit, so you do that too, mouth at her until she’s so wet she’s slicking your chin, and then you hollow your cheeks and suck and she goes tense as a bowstring and bites her lip and shudders hard above you.

You lick her slowly through the aftershocks, until she slumps sideways onto the bed and wriggles around to get an arm over you.

In a moment she’ll get a washcloth and clean you both up, and then you’ll pull your pyjama bottoms up and both of you will get into bed and cuddle up, and when you wake up in the morning she’ll have stolen all the blankets and you’ll be wrapped around a pillow like a very clingy sloth. For now, you just lie here and bask in being home.


End file.
